


Sore Morning

by the_pen_is_mightier



Series: waking up to you [10]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley POV, Fluff, M/M, Sweetness, Tenderness, morning fic, they're in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:35:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21975958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_pen_is_mightier/pseuds/the_pen_is_mightier
Summary: Sometimes Crowley wakes feeling human.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: waking up to you [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1504895
Comments: 22
Kudos: 182





	Sore Morning

Crowley woke feeling human.

It was a sensation he’d been having more and more of late, a sensation that had picked up its pace in the past few centuries - a strange desire to breathe and eat and sleep regular hours, a vague sick feeling when he’d had too much wine, an annoying inability to sit still for hours at a time without cramping. He woke feeling human, in that his back ached, his shoulders felt tight and knotted, his neck was stiff. Crowley felt his age, for a moment. 

“Ugh,” he groaned. 

“What was that?” 

Crowley moved his head, with some difficulty. Aziraphale was already awake, and reading. He looked down at Crowley from over his round spectacles. 

_“Ugh,”_ Crowley repeated, and attempted to shift positions, which only made him wince. “I’m sore.” 

“I’d imagine so,” Aziraphale said primly. “You did drive your car from London to Tadfield while it was on fire yesterday. You’ve rather overtaxed your powers, considerable as they are.” 

“Hngrkghjkngk.” 

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “And what was that?” 

With a concerted effort, Crowley shuffled his head into Aziraphale’s lap. “I need you, Aziraphale.” 

There was a pause, and Crowley heard the sound of a bookmark sliding into place, and Aziraphale setting his book down on the night-table. Then hands were on his arms, gently pulling Crowley upright. “You poor dear. Let me take care of you.” 

“Angel…” 

“Hush.” Aziraphale drew Crowley upright in front of him, so the angel sat between Crowley and the headboard. Crowley felt the angel’s hands skim up his arms, and shivered. Then they pressed firmly into his back. 

“Ah,” said Crowley. 

“Does that feel all right?” 

Crowley felt his muscles seize up, then relax under Aziraphale’s touch, the knots in his shoulders slowly loosening as Aziraphale rubbed circles into his shoulder blades. His soft fingers moved up toward Crowley’s neck, leaving warmth in their wake, and the aches eased gently away. “That feels incredible.” 

“Hmm.” Aziraphale pressed a kiss to Crowley’s shoulder, then another to the base of his neck. Soft kisses, still sleepy and slow. And warm with angelic presence.

Yes, he’d woken up like this before. In the eleven years of raising Warlock, his teeth constantly on edge as the fate of the world hung ever in the balance - the eleven years of being so close to Aziraphale, but still never close enough to touch as Hell and Heaven leaned inward to watch their every move - he’d felt human and frail like this. But there had never been anyone to comfort him then. He’d curled in on himself in bed and tried to force the aches away with miracles. It had only slightly worked. Healing, after all, wasn’t traditionally in a demon’s wheelhouse. 

Aziraphale continued rubbing Crowley’s back even when he’d completely relaxed. Crowley didn’t mind. It was a nice feeling, especially when it was interrupted with more kisses on his shoulders. Especially when Aziraphale began gently combing through his hair, scratching his scalp with delicate nails as if to ground him.

“Darling,” Aziraphale whispered. “I love you so much, you know.” 

Crowley did know. He’d known for decades, though doubt had sometimes threatened to smother the knowledge. But he felt human enough, on mornings like this, that he liked to hear it more than once.

“Do you?” he hummed. 

“Oh, yes.” Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley’s waist and rested his chin on Crowley’s shoulder, swaddling him in softness, encouraging him to lean back against his plush chest. Crowley needed little convincing. “I love you more that I know what to do with. You make me so wonderfully happy. Just waking up next to you.” 

“Is that right.” 

“I want to be with you every morning for the rest of eternity.” Aziraphale twisted to plant a kiss on Crowley’s cheek, and Crowley practically melted against him. “I want to be the first thing you see. Selfish of me, isn’t it? Very un-angelic.”

Crowley twisted his body around to kiss Aziraphale back, lips touching tenderly together this time. He felt the angel’s smile without having to open his eyes. He felt Aziraphale’s eagerness, pressing closer and closer to Crowley, cradling him in his wide arms. Crowley had never felt so safe in his life.

“Nah,” Crowley said. “Just human of you.”

He loved this creaky old corporation, loved it more than was anything but silly. Loved Aziraphale’s, too. The endless softness of it, the way it had been shaped perfectly to fit the love of his life. To be human was, after all, a glorious thing.

**Author's Note:**

> Like my content? Find me on tumblr @[whatawriterwields](https://whatawriterwields.tumblr.com)!


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